


Bad Influence

by BooBalooPants



Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, M/M, angry grump destro who definitely doesn't care, implied relations, just felt like adding that, mostly idgaf cobra commander as long as he gets his zartan fun times, pretty obvious actually, serpentor is an ass, smug bastard zartan who possibly cares, the all-seeing baroness, vodka from russia with love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: The incident with the swamp skier isn't supposed to be a big deal. Destro wonders why it is.





	Bad Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Short sequel fic to Unpaid Bonus, but you don't need to have read that one. Accidental inspiration, just fancied writing something from Destro's pov.

88

88

The rogue swamp skier was more than enough to bring about a curious buzz amongst the Cobra soldiers, before anyone of authority arrived. It puttered slowly into the hangar, a stream of thick smoke trailing it's rear.

Destro recognised it's driver immediately, and his mouth curled an automatic snarl. It couldn't be helped.

“_Wretched Zartan_.”

His annoyance turned into something else, when he realised the mercenary had very familiar company with him, and looped awkwardly against his shoulder.

The Cobra Commander didn't look like he was in a good way.

“Damn reptilian fool,” Destro snarled again.

He pushed through the commotion of Cobra soldiers and ran the rest of the way to meet them.

“Well? What happened?” his hand twitched out, but not far enough for anyone else to notice.

The commander raised his head - _ ah, so he was conscious then - _and pulled away from Zartan.

“..._Destro, _good to see you...” he started to laugh, and then groaned, clutching at his side. “I did miss you, you know...”

Destro snatched him up by the collar.

“_What the hell happened to you_?”

“_Hey, _let him alone-” said Zartan.

“Keep quiet, dirty mercenary.”

“.._.calm down,_ Destro...” the commander said, through another lilting laugh. “Nothing really _happened, _per say...we just...”

He staggered, as if he might be inebriated, then his slight weight suddenly sunk forwards, and against Destro's chest. The accompanying laughter slid into another pained groan.

“Doesn't sound like nothing,” Destro held him upright, and more tightly. “How many times have I told you not to go gallivanting off with a _damned Dreadnok, _of all things...”

“Mercenary,” Zartan corrected.

“...oh, you worry too much, Destro...”

“Not at all, actually,” Destro assured. He turned his glare back onto Zartan. “Well? Do you care to explain any of this?”

Zartan hung back a noticeable amount, his arms guardedly crossed, as if he didn't trust Destro at all.

The feeling was mutual. The mercenary's smirk was like a permanent fixture these days, and always burned within Destro's mind whenever he cared to recall him (which wasn't very often, if he could help it).

Destro couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand _him_.

Zartan shrugged.

“We had a bit of trouble with the swamp skier, that's all. I think he's cracked a couple of ribs, though. I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Destro's free hand curled into a fist.

“I'd be quite enthusiastic about altering your 'fine' condition, Zartan. Believe me.”

Zartan's smirk stretched. “Oh, I believe it. But you might want to offer the commander some medical attention first.”

There was another groan, closer to Destro's chest, and Destro realised (resentfully) that Zartan was right.

He barked an order to the flanking Cobra staff, and they all scattered with murmured and conspiratorial sounds. Destro prickled. He didn't want this little disaster getting any further than it had to; and he knew that any further up than himself, and into Serpentor's hands, was always going to be_ bad news_.

“_Idiotic, reckless _creature_,_” he cursed, as if that might make him feel any better about the situation. Of course it didn't.

It wasn't that he even cared. _Not really._

Generally, Destro held nothing but contempt for the commander. Or at best, a threadbare sort of tolerance. Sometimes he felt like a despairing parent, trying to keep his temper around an equally tempestuous child.

_ Ridiculous._

There were only tiny moments of anything else between them.

An off-key comment, perhaps. Or else something that reminded Destro that the commander was still human, despite _everything_.

Destro felt fingers, briefly scrunching around his jacket.

“...uh...I don't feel so good, Destro...”

“Commander, please try not to move so much.”

It was one of those tiny moments.

“The swamp skier was my idea,” Zartan said. It was like some feeble version of an apology.

Destro scowled. “Why am I not surprised? You could have gotten him _killed,_ you careless moron.”

Zartan made a huffing sound. “That'd be quite convenient for you, wouldn't it, Destro? A step up the Cobra ladder, perhaps?”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Exactly what I say.”

Destro took a step forward, careful enough not to jostle the commander too much. “I could say the same about you, mercenary.”

Zartan laughed. “I'm not the one vying with Mindbender to be Serpentor's number two.”

“How_ dare_ you suggest-”

“...can you both stop talking about your hypothetical betrayals, as if I'm already dead...?” the commander said, in a plaintive voice. His hand pushed against Destro, as if he might try and stand for himself, but then he seemed to think better of it. “...it's very...inconsiderate.”

Destro mostly ignored him, his glare pressing at Zartan.

“If anyone is suspicious of a betrayal, perhaps it is the one who brings the commander back in this condition?”

Zartan shrugged. “Why would I want to off my most regular source of income? And why would _you_, for that matter? MARS wouldn't be doing so brilliantly either, not without our dear commander's generous offers now, would it?”

“You cannot possibly-”

“Please stop this bickering. It's very tedious. And as the commander says; very inconsiderate.”

Destro and Zartan spun round, to see the Baroness standing there, scowling between them as if she might be dealing with a couple of mere delinquents.

She beckoned forward some more cobra staff, and then back to Destro.

“Baroness, I was only-”

“Be quiet, Destro. And try to do something useful.”

Destro hesitated, then passed the commander over to the staff with a wordless and strange edge of anxiety.

Feeling the burn of the Baroness's eyes, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to settle anything with Zartan in the way he would have liked anymore (a shame, he was always_ so close_ to having a valid excuse to be rid of the mercenary once and for all).

Instead he frowned at him;

“Don't lump my business dealings with Cobra in with your petty cash '_bonuses_', Zartan. I have no intention of associating with that sort of thing.”

Zartan shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn't call it 'petty' cash. You're not the only one the commander is very generous with, you know.”

“I am well aware,”Destro pulled a face. “Though I can barely fathom why he still keeps you around. A cheap thrill or two hardly warrants this mess.”

Zartan's smirk became lazy and familiar.

“I must know how to show him a _really_ good time, I suppose,” he looked Destro quickly up and down. “I do wonder why it upsets you so much, though?”

“_You_-”

Destro felt the Baroness's hand, clutching his arm.

“Come, Destro. We have other things to concern ourselves with, besides irresponsible boys.”

8

8

“He has a point, you know.”

Destro stared at the Baroness; “Don't tell me you're defending that mercenary scum?”

She laughed at him as if he'd told a poor joke.

“Destro,_ darling_. You are so tense! And that doesn't come from nothing, does it?”

Destro turned a begrudging gaze to the floor. He tried to ignore the fingers that swirled around his masked cheek, like some kind of soothing temptation.

“So it doesn't annoy you, then? The way our commander favours Zartan so much?”

“Sometimes,” the Baroness admitted. “But I'm also not so eager to gain the commander's favour, am I?”

“I'm not _eager_! Not in the slightest,” Destro said at once. He made a frustrated sound. “But surely...surely you can _see_ that the commander's affections for Zartan...they are totally unjust and nonsensical! The mercenary is nothing but a bad influence. And a safety hazard.”

The Baroness laughed again. It was annoying, because it somehow reminded Destro of Zartan, and his smug and unwarranted smiles and glances. A myriad of secrets that weren't really secrets at all. Not if Destro thought too much about them.

He wasn't a fool. He had seen Zartan leaving Cobra hideouts in the earliest hours of many mornings, as well as the commander returning home to them in the earliest hours too. And there was nothing subtle about the way the commander spoke about Zartan, nor the way he might look at him and agree with him, or simply just stand so pointlessly close to him.

It wasn't rocket science. Oh so _far_ _from it._

_Cheap thrills, indeed._

Destro suspected that the commander would quite happily break the bank (as well as a few of his own bones, clearly) just to keep Zartan around.

"Oh, is it so terrible, Destro?” the Baroness said, her face flickering amusement. “Don't you recall feeling such 'affections', yourself? Or are you immune even to my charms, these days?”

Destro muttered, something indecipherable even to himself.

He let the Baroness push him back down onto the bed, before he properly found his voice again.

“So you think....you think that the commander might actually love him?”

“_Love?_” the Baroness's laughter became sharper. “Darling, I had no idea that it might run so _deep,_” she leaned down, her voice softer and close to his ear. “...but who knows? The commander is nothing if not surprising.”

8

The medical unit wasn't especially busy that evening.

There were doctors and nurses occasionally passing down the corridors, and sometimes a wounded Cobra soldier entered or exited a room, but apart from that the waiting area was deserted, save for Destro and Zartan.

Zartan peeled away from the off-white wall. “Aren't you going in to see him, then? Or are you just here to interrogate me again?”

Destro glared at the wall. “Actually I'm surprised you're here at all.”

“Me too,” Zartan seemed to consider it. “I must be getting kind of attached to our dear commander, mustn't I?”

Destro snorted. “How is he?”

“_Ridiculous, _as usual. He refused to take off his mask. So I was banished out here for a bit.”

Destro raised a brow. “He won't let you see his face?”

He wasn't sure why he was so surprised about it.

Zartan looked away. “It seems so.”

“...I see.”

Destro supposed it made sense.

The commander wasn't typically vain about that sort of thing; he even seemed to take some pleasure in other peoples revulsion, whenever he did remove the hood or helmet.

But Zartan was different, because obviously the commander actually _liked_ him. And he probably wanted Zartan to like him back.

Destro stared at the doorway. It was a bleak sort of realisation.

“He does like you rather a lot, doesn't he?”

Zartan spared him a sideways glance. He shrugged. “I suppose?”

Destro cleared his throat, waving away some irritated thoughts.

“In any case, there is the issue with Serpentor which must be dealt with.”

Zartan turned to look at him properly. His eyes widened a bit.

“What about Serpentor? He has nothing to do with this.”

“Exactly. And it would be in _all _of our best interests to keep it that way,” Destro hesitated. “I'm sure you're well aware, we have had more than enough failures between us in recent months. Enough to warrant some cruel and unusual punishments. We needn't add this one to the list.”

Zartan's expression soured, in a way that Destro didn't usually get to see. He looked _furious_, and it was sort of interesting.

“I wouldn't stand in the general vicinity of your_ precious_ Cobra emperor, Destro. Never mind have a conversation with him. You needn't worry about that.”

The corners of Destro's mouth twitched up.

For just a moment, he could have agreed with the dirty mercenary's sentiments. He held his tongue though.

The door opened at the same time, and a doctor looked between them both with a concerned face.

“_What's wrong?_” they chorused at once.

“The Cobra Commander, despite medical advice...has said that he would like to leave. At once. Am I to allow it?”

Destro rolled his eyes and felt his shoulders sag, in some odd and unexpected wave of relief.

“How surprising. Don't listen to a word he says, doctor. He is a sick _sick _creature. In many ways.”

The doctor nodded, and disappeared back into the bay.

Destro started to follow after her, imagining how he might talk the commander out of another irrational move, when a hand grabbed his arm at the last second.

Destro tried to shrug Zartan away, before noticing the mercenary's brow had harshly creased; his eyes were flashing something that could have been panic.

“I didn't mean for this to happen, you know,” Zartan said. “This failure...it was _my_ doing, Destro. You understand? If Serpentor does find out, send him to me before the commander.”

Destro stared at the hand on his arm, still wanting to shrug it off.

“...I understand your concerns, Zartan. The commander is indeed a_ generous _pay check, and it would be a shame if he was-”

Zartan's jaw clenched.

“_It isn't about that_,” he snapped. “I know what 'punishments' your emperor has administered upon him,” his voice lowered, in a deceptively soft tone. “And one day I'll kill him for it.”

Destro blinked slowly, absorbing the words and Zartan's resolute expression, with a careful but inarguable smile.

“You know...up to this point, Zartan, I've barely been able to understand what the commander sees in you.”

“So what?”

“Well. It is starting to make a little more sense now.”

Zartan let go of Destro's arm. His smile was humourless.

“Good to know we might finally be on the same page about something.”

88

88

The commander was already halfway across the room, entangled in bed sheets and annoyed by bandages, by the time Destro got to him. 

Of course it was no surprise; he was incredibly resilient, if equally as foolish. A few cracked ribs appeared to be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

At least he must have been feeling much better, then.

Destro apologised to the terrorised hospital staff, and easily grasped him by the arm, dragging him back to the bed.

“This sort of behaviour has to stop. It is embarrassing and undignified.”

“Spare me a lecture, Destro,” the commander said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He flinched, as he lay properly back down onto the bed. “I already know how good you are at those.”

Destro refrained from smirking.

“How are you feeling, anyway?”

“Perfectly miserable. And why don't you just get it over with whilst you're here?”

“Get what over with?” Destro leaned forwards in his chair, trying to decipher anything but his own reflection in that mirrored mask. He'd given up on it in recent times, but right now it seemed almost pertinent; as if the commander was actually trying to tell him something important for once.

“Just get on with it,” the commander said, his fingers tapping impatiently. “I'm sick of waiting.”

“Waiting for_ what?_”

“You know what! '_I told you so'_, and all of that. Get it out of your system, Destro. Go _crazy._”

Destro did smirk, this time.

“It just gets so _tiring_, commander. That's all. Being so right all of the time.”

The commander huffed, but didn't say anything.

It wasn't an uneasy silence, and Destro was quite used to a sulk anyway. Besides, it was often a good sign that the commander was conceding Destro was right about something. Though he'd never admit it outright, of course.

It would be a cold day in hell before that ever happened.

“You were right,” the commander said, very suddenly.

Destro startled.

“...what?”

“You were right about Zartan. He could've gotten me killed, couldn't he?"

"Well. Yes..."

"But he didn't, and the plan would've worked if we had just-”

“Commander, you can't condone a reckless plan like that. Not just because of some cheap thrills and-”

“_I shall condone whatever I like!_”

The commander's fist wasn't especially painful, but it still took Destro by surprise.

He reeled back with the impact against his cheek, before gathering his senses quickly back together.

Not so much angry as he was resigned, he grasped at gloved and quivering hands, and pushed the commander back onto the bed. 

“Stop this lunacy, commander, and please settle down.”

“I _won't_...” 

Destro could already feel the commander's strength waning away though, and the hitch of his breath told Destro that he might already be regretting the erratic move. 

"..._let go_, Destro..."

Destro waited, hands wrenched firm and unmoving around the commander's wrists, with the sort of patience he realised could only have come through working with the other for so long.

It was the smallest of silver linings in such a disastrous partnership.

“Don't you...don't you have better things to be doing?” the commander hissed. He still pulled, albeit rather uselessly, against Destro's hold.

“Yes, I do, actually.”

“Like what?”

“Like keeping Serpentor off your back.”

The commander stopped struggling, very suddenly. He sunk slowly back down onto the bed, as if he'd been hit with something far more sobering than Destro's restraining hands.

Destro let go of him, still with some apprehension.

The commander turned his head away, as if to glare at the wall.

“Pass me the drink.”

Destro frowned at the nearby bottle of vodka, attractively signed with far too many kisses from the Baroness. She was good at winding Destro up like that.

“Please reconsider. Drowning your woes in alcohol isn't going to help.”

“Who said anything about drowning woes? I'm celebrating not being dead.”

There was a beat of silence, in which Destro noticed hands uncurling, and then just clutching at the bed sheets, as if there was nothing else.

“Just let me have some fun, Destro," the commander muttered. "You know that Serpentor doesn't make it easy anymore.”

Destro blinked, taken off-guard by more than just the weariness in the other's voice.

_One of those annoying tiny moments again._

Destro sighed. He passed the vodka bottle over to him.

“Fine. You win, commander. This time.”

“Are you joking?” the commander gestured to the hospital bed. “I've lost, and horribly. In case you hadn't noticed," his head bowed, to inspect and press experimentally at the bandaging about his chest. "Perhaps Zartan really is out to kill me."

Destro rubbed a hand to his temple.

"I wouldn't know," he grimaced, more to himself. A sting of conscience, perhaps. "But your foolish mercenary friend did tell me he was accountable for the accident.”

The commander looked quickly back up at him.

“...he did?”

“Yes. I suppose there's something _vaguely_ honourable in that, isn't there?” Destro's mouth moved, into a careful line. “I do hope he's worth all the trouble, commander. For your sake.”

The commander tilted his head, in a curious motion.

“Be careful, Destro. People might start to think you care or something.”

It made Destro want to do something radical, like smile at him.

“Not at all, my dear commander.”

The weight within his chest hadn't so much lifted (frankly, Destro didn't know he'd been carrying anything like it), but it had moved, creating a strange sense of relief.

The commander opened the vodka bottle, and poured a couple of drinks they both knew they'd regret in the morning.

“Here's to not being dead, then,” he paused as he raised his glass, seeming to consider Destro. “And to not caring about things.”

Destro nodded. “And to another bad influence, I'm sure.”

The commander laughed, and Destro was compelled to as well, as their glasses clinked together.

Destro sometimes wondered if he was just as cracked as the commander. 

Must have just been another one of those tiny moments, though.

88


End file.
